


Coping

by julliangray



Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21567001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julliangray/pseuds/julliangray
Summary: Hannibal has a heart to heart with Face while he is in the hospital after their escape from the POW camp.
Relationships: Templeton "Faceman" Peck/John "Hannibal" Smith
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39





	Coping

'Doing as well as can be expected' that was a phrase that he was getting tired of hearing.’ Every time someone asks about his condition, the doctors respond with those seven words; seven words that meant everything and nothing at all.

He hears the door and footsteps move down the hall but knows that there is still someone in his room.

"Are you awake, Lieutenant?"

He keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to engage with anyone, especially this man.

"The doctors tell me you're not eating."

He tries even harder to block out the world around him but can't stop the flinch when he feels fingers card through his all too short hair.

"Face, I know you're awake."

He keeps his eyes closed, hoping without hope that the colonel will just go away. Then he hears it, a chair being pulled up beside the bed as the fingers disappear.

"We can play this game as long as you want, but I'm not leaving until I say my peace."

He hopes that Hannibal will 'say his peace' and leave, but again he is disappointed.

"But that is not going to happen until you look at me."

He doesn't want to look at Hannibal or anyone else for that matter. He just wants to be left alone to his pain and misery until there is no more.

"I can sit here as long as it takes kid."

He hears the seat creak, and he knows that the older man has just shifted to make himself more comfortable; 'setting in for the long haul' as one of the nuns at the orphanage used to call it.

Knowing that once John Hannibal Smith made up his mind nothing can change it he slowly opens one eye all the way and the other as much as the swelling will allow. He has to blink several times to clear the blurriness from his vision, but it does not stay clear for long. The doctors say that it will get better in time, but they say that about a lot of things.

"Hey Face,"

He blinks again to clear his vision, and this time, he is greeted by a gentle smile and soft blue eyes. Seeing the kindness reflected at him is more than he can stand, and he starts to close his eyes again. However before that can happen, Hannibal leans forward takes his hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"This won't take long kid, I know how tired you are, but I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you."

'Proud,' He wants to laugh at that, but he doesn't have the strength. How can anyone, especially Hannibal, be proud of him? He knows what he looks like. His hair has been shaved short to get rid of the lice and other bugs that were crawling through the tangled dirty mess. The whites of his eyes are red from the blood that has pooled into them, subconjunctival hemorrhage being the technical term. His face is battered, scraped and bruised so bad that he almost didn't recognize himself the first time he sees himself in the mirror. The skin on his throat is red and raw from the number of times it has had a rope or hands wrapped around it. 

His chest and torsos are nothing more than a black, blue, and yellow mass of bruises, with scabbed over laceration. The same injuries continue down his waist, thighs, and calves, even the soles of his feet are battered and bloody. The worst, however, is his back, it is crisscrossed with slashes from a bamboo cane; damage so bad that he has to lay on his side because the slightest bit of pressure will send him into pain-filled spasms. The doctors had tried to cover the wounds with bandages, but after the first attempt to change them had left him writhing in agony, they agreed that perhaps letting them heal open to the air was the best method. Though despite all the physical pain he is in, it was nothing compared to the mental anguish of knowing what has been done to him in other ways. Things that he cannot deal with, things made even worse knowing that the man sitting beside him also knows about these hidden wounds. 

"You’ve fought so damn hard to get here," the colonel leans forward in his chair as he gives his hand yet another squeeze. "But you still have a long way to go."

He wants to laugh at the vast understatement; he knows why he is one of the "lucky few" to have a private room at the base hospital. It's not that he is going to die; no; he will survive his injuries if he wants to. He has a private room because he scares the hell out of the other men on the ward; he is a stark reminder of what can happen if you are captured by the enemy.

"Face,"

He realizes that he has closed his eyes again when he feels that large yet gentle hand in his hair. 

"Kid,"

Opening his eyes, he notices that Smith has moved again, standing right beside his bed, leaning down over him so that their faces are just inches apart. 

"I love you, Templeton." Hannibal's hand moves to cup his cheek in one large hand. "I want you by my side always."  
He watches as Hannibal takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and for the first time, he notices the tears filling the bright blue eyes, spilling down his colonel's cheeks, leaving wet trails behind.

"Damn it Tem if you give up, then so will I; I don't want to live without you."

He swallows hard as he looks at the anguish filled face of the older man and realizes that the pain he sees is for his suffering, for what might happen if he doesn't try.

"Please, kid, fight for us."

He takes in a breath as deep as his busted, and bruised ribs will allow and nods yes.

"Thank you, Sunshine." Hannibal leaned farther forward and placed a gentle kiss on his cracked and split lips.

He continues to stare into the older man's tear-filled eyes, but all too soon it becomes a struggle to keep his eyes open as Hannibal's hand starts to stroke his hair again.

"Go to sleep Tem," Hannibal places another kiss to his lips before sitting back down in the chair and taking his hand. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Lieutenant Templeton Peck nods his head and closes his eyes, summing up the strength for the fight to do more than just 'doing as well as can be expected.'

End


End file.
